


A Storm at Sea

by Destinyawakened



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hannigram - Freeform, M/M, Season 3 A, Starts on the boat and vignettes through Hannibal turning himself in, in between musings, scenes not shown
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-12-02 08:39:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11505729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Destinyawakened/pseuds/Destinyawakened
Summary: Will Graham has a regrets and questions, but the biggest one is if he's actually forgiven Hannibal at all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Be kind, my first fic posting on my own, I don't really know how well this will be accepted, but hey. Kudo is you liked it, comment if you loved it, I guess.
> 
> Also this is for my writing partners who put up with me a lot.

The distant thrumming of a pulse, like white noise inside his mind, as all the sound otherwise depleted from the world, brought Will Graham to present. The gentle away of the boat, the wind whipping cool gust against his skin, billowing through tufts of chocolate curls, nipping at his cheeks as Will pulled the beanie down over his ears, a much needed shelter. His mind wandered as the sea enveloped the ship, NOLA, and the sails spread wide as she was carried out to sea. Trains of thought went left and right, up and down, pulling him from one polar opposite to the other, anger and detachment; love and anguish. Will’s audio sensories started to come back, his pulse slowing as the anxiety of the ocean and distance between he and Hannibal started to close came to boiling end. There’d be time for worry, but his mindset had to be clear.

Else he wouldn’t find all he was looking for, or anything in between.

“Do you think he’ll have missed us?” Abigail asked next to him, having been talking, likely, this whole time, but Will was just now hearing here.

“In his own way,” Will replied, shifting the helm, guiding the boat through the water with effortless grace, sprinkles of water flecking against his face. The gleam of the rising sun shone off the water’s reflection, blindingly, lighting up Will’s eyes as he cast a glance over at Abigail, bundled up in a coat, gloves in, and scarf around her neck. She was even more wind-chafed out on the ocean, away from her element and engulfed in Will’s.

“Will he forgive you?” Abigail asked, curiously, watching Will with her own blue eyes, bright in the morning sun, like big lakes from the midwest, large and perfect.

“He already has.”

“Will you forgive him?”

“Maybe,” Will said, decidedly, blinking once at Abigail, and then moved his eyes back to the ocean, the last leg of their journey coming to a close, just hours left. He still wasn’t sure if he did forgive, or if he would get revenge. Both sounded acceptable; both seemed plausible.

Everyone expected Will to do one thing, to lead them to Hannibal, and bring him in. On some levels it was an acceptable things to do--it was the _right_ thing to do. How he would react when he saw Hannibal again, however, would determine everything. Will knew his mind could be quite unpredictable, especially when it came to Hannibal Lecter. A friendship had been formed despite everything Will had mentally done to prepare himself, to not get attached, but finding yourself in someone else and being accepted was a trait that most never had the pleasure of finding.

Will had let Hannibal’s love go to waste. The question now was would he tear out that reciprocated love or nourish it?

***

Stuck in the tombs of the beginnings of Hannibal’s mind, Will watched as blood cascaded down Abigail’s porcelain white neck, from the scar once healed over and then cut anew, all over again. There were no sputters or gurgles of choking on the crimson, nor gasping breaths of dying, as Will realized that death had already taken Abigail once. The he figure next to him was nothing but a ghost, a mirage of a life he couldn’t get back, of lives lost, and loves squandered. Tanned, callous rough fingers reach out to touch dark hair, only to slide through, whisping her mirage away.

“In some other world,” he repeated, all too aware that suddenly, the world was much quieter, much lonelier. He’d been holding on to a name and face to keep himself from falling apart, but now that he was near Hannibal once more, in a room where his Valentine man had been found, Will no longer needed Abigail.

***

Dust and mold filled his senses as Will walked the blood trodden path of the catacombs, well aware the Pazzi was somewhere behind him, trying to keep up, trying to save face that he was not as afraid as Will could feel trembling from him in every foot step growing closer. Tunnel after tunnel, corner after corner, until Will was wrapped in a maze, searching with eager sea blue hues, hoping to find the one thing he needed, the one thing that could end the mindless hunt.

“Hannibal…” he breathed, the footsteps stopped, be it Pazzi or the devil himself

Nothing. Not a word, nor breath.

If not today, another day. Will had a trip planned, a walk through the billowing folds of Hannibal’s past, beyond the beginnings of his killer career and into the lands of a boy and his family, beyond the gates of horror that changed most people.

***

Fog curled around his hair, sprinkling a light mist against his face, as Will watched the blooming fireflies skitter and flutter about, lighting up bits of the night around him. Stone passages revealed secrets into a life long forgotten for Hannibal Lecter, buried deep inside of his memory palace, where Will would venture physically and mentally in the hours to come. There were no definite answers in those waking hours between dreams and fairy tales told by Chiyoh, storybook to some, with anguish and tales of heroics, only to lead to a life of disparity. However, like most, Hannibal had not just overcome, he had _become_.

Moreso, he had grown into his skin, the fur of lion laid out before a cub, reaching and reaching to fill the paws, to shake it’s mane and roar with delight.

And oh, did Hannibal delight.

As much as the doctor was grieving and missing him, as much as he allowed one singular train of thought to do so, there was always one that delighted in small things, mischief and the like. Knock someone down in self defense, but find humor in there groveling. It’s what made Hannibal so… interesting, after all.

***

Physical human connection.

A need that most people longed for, thrived on. Will Graham was no different, and in the smallest of fractured moments, he had thought perhaps, maybe, Chiyoh had felt the same. A soft touch of lips and nothing else, followed by the wind in his hair and the heaviness of his limbs smacking the ground with a tumbling thud. Blackness had overtaken every bit of him, for how long, he wasn’t too sure, but when he opened his eyes again, something was prodding him from behind, nosing him to keep going, to get up.

So he did.

Staggering, he walked the railroad tracks leading back to Italy, feet scraping as he barely picked them up off the ground, unable to for a good mile, but the stag behind him, dark and eager, pushed him on, pushed him to fight the growing lines of tiredness in his vision, the fading edge, the need to sleep.

No. He kept going. There’d be time for that later.

***

Time stilled as everyone else in the room seemed to drift away and disappear. Only Hannibal remained, ashen hair and dark clothes, favoring one side even in his prone, sitting position. The lights seemed to brighten, hueing them both in an angelic light, as though everything was finally coming into focus.

The question remained: Did Will forgive Hannibal entirely, and whose side was he on?

As he took deliberate steps forward, his footfalls echoing, his decision had not yet been made. Not when he approached, nor when he sat down, his features lighting up at just the very notion of Hannibal speaking to him once again.

It was as if he had found the other half of his soul once again, conjoined, sewn back together with the malice of their contempt for each other, but also with the love that bloomed between their hearts.

Could Hannibal love?

Will wasn’t so sure.

***

Red blurred his vision as the world smeared into focus, upside down and clearly not where he had been before. The blood rushed to his head on realize he was upside down, his limbs ached, his head spun, and his hands were tied. He blinked, tears clearing blood from his eyes, though nothing looked familiar. Next to him a warm body stirred slightly, and Will realized the inevitable. His gaze glowered from the side of his eye at Hannibal, but said nothing.

Having your head sawed into ruined the honeymoon immediately.

The second Hannibal shifted, as though to get a better look, Will closed his eyes again, taking in the smell of their situation, their musks of dirt and blood, likely even some bodily fluids-- he couldn’t say for certain.

There’d be no forgiveness now, there’d be no happily ever after.

***

Drugged for the second time in three days, Will couldn’t have been more done with everything. His gaze rested on the assaulting bright lights above him as sounds of screams and slopping of blood splatter resounding through the makeshift operation theatre. Will couldn’t move a muscle, but he heard someone working around him that was not Cordell. Finally, Hannibal’s face came into view and Will almost felt relieved, though it was fleeting feeling that fluttered in his ribcage and then out again as fast as it had come.

“We have to go,” Hannibal whispered, removing Will’s IV line, but the empath said nothing, his steely gaze never wavering. “Can you move?”

“No,” Will managed, as much as he could get out, all things considered. Before he could protest, Hannibal lifted him, bridal style, into his arms, hulking toward the exit, even though his legs seemed to sink and sink, like they would give out, he held Will tightly, even still.

***

Somewhere between leaving and morning, Will had passed out. Be it from injuries or lack of real rest, he wasn’t sure. He woke again, to the sun streaming in, covered in soft blankets that smelled of dogs-- _his_ dogs-- and the sound of people whispered outside of his front door. The voices were like tiny echoes, he couldn’t quite hear and picked up on some words, enough to debate on who was out there, but on focusing his attentions, he could see Hannibal’s silhouette, and that of Chiyoh.

She was watching over Hannibal, making sure things were just right, Will could tell. He didn’t think it bode well for him, not if he left with Hannibal this time, or ever. Not after everything.

The porch creaked, and Will hunkered down, hiding his face in his pillow, curls unruly over his head.

Some monsters could not be caught, and some just needed a little persuasion. There was only one thing he could do, so Will started mentally tallying off all the horrible things Hannibal had ever done, revving himself up for the inevitable.

***

“-- Where you can always find me.”

Will shifted his jaw once as he watched Hannibal, bathed in the glow from the car headlights of many police and FBI agents alike, completely taken down a notch, and at his own will, never pushed, never bartered. His honeyed eyes met Will’s, blue and angry, fierce like a storm at sea.

Will turned and walked back into his house, not one goodbye said, not a single tear shed. Over. Done with. finished.

The storm needed a calm, and Will was ready for it.


	2. Chapter 2

Molly Foster was a resounding wavelength in time that was assured and steady, like the beating of a healthy, happy heart inside one’s chest. She was neither too pretty nor too plain, always skating the line of in between, and clutching at Will’s own heart like she was going to save him. Boy, did he want her to. The very thought of her made his insides flutter, to wonder if maybe she could make him forget all together, and for a while, sure, she could, and she did.

Marriage was convenient, it meant lasting love and a happy family, at least from a second viewpoint. Will mentally tied their souls together, with a thin, wispy thread that dared to break, ever hanging on but just that last bit, coiling and spinning, twisting.

It would break, at some point, but as long as Will was careful he knew he could coddle and maintain the thread for a while longer. All he had to do was save face, hide away that last bit of himself, that nature that had been stroked and primed by Hannibal, finely tuned. To forget, Will would have to change. 

***

Handfuls of days passed without a thought about Hannibal. Then weeks. Months. A year passed, and the only fleeting memory Will had are in his dreams, when he woke and couldn’t sleep any longer. Never a full face, never a real voice, always blurry, always swirling, never clear. He could push them down for a long time, he could hold them in and make the beast descent once more, and finally, after another year of trying, he finally succeeded. No more dreams. No no more nightmares that reflected on his deepest, darkest secrets-- on a life he no longer wanted, on things he might actually miss.

There was no real saying.

He married Molly. A quaint and quiet ceremony, with Walter there, no one else. 

Freedom and love felt a lot like falling and suffocating slowly.

Will walked into the marriage with his eyes closed, shut tight, blocking out the things he knew would never work. It _had_ to work. All bets were in, he had put his very last ounce of humanity into this.

It had to work; the beast was growing tiresome and the cage of steel protecting his heart was wearing thin as its claws continued to scrape, clawing, bleating-- waiting.

***

Nimble fingers picked away at the strings, tying, knotting, looping through the eye of the hook. Snipping off the ends, Will handed the hook to Walter, as much a son as he would ever have, but not his child by any right. Walter called him ‘Dad’ a lot, but Will was pretty sure Molly asked him to, as Will didn’t mind just being… Will.

“Cool,” Walter said and ran out to the side of the boat, the waves rocking and shaking with every rough wave, while Molly helped him bait it.

A perfect little family: cookie cutter; cut and paste. Will had frosted himself over their lives, glued himself into their picture perfect little ways. They hardly needed him, Molly was strong as hell, and Walter was as independent as they came.

“What are you doing in here, Sweet man?” Molly asked, leaving Walter with his fishing line, for now, walking up to Will gloved hands rubbing up his chest as she nuzzled his nose with her own, cold and wet from the sea.

“Nothin’,” Will whispered, a smirk gliding gracefully over his features, worry lines fading into his hair as he touched her face once and then slipped from her reach. He wanted to believe every word she said, every endearment that warmed him thoroughly and replaced all the darkness Hannibal had used to hollow him out whole.

It never felt like enough, the grave dug was too wide, too deep--vast and never ending.

“Doesn’t look like nothing. Something on your mind?” she asked, their noses close as they shared a simply breath and then an even simpler kiss. Everything was sweet, succulent like honey, sticking together in his ribs, just waiting to be washed away with a bit of warmth to melt it.

“No,” Will whispered, an even smile on his face, lighting his brazen blue eyes which in turn made her grin, puffing up her ample cheekbones even more, which only made him bring a thumb up to caress them. She was entirely too pure, too sweet, for the darkness that dwelled under Will’s skin.

It was better to leave it, let the darkness drown in Molly’s constant sugar coated words, her funny sense of humor, everything that made Will feel so… simple. He liked simple. No big words. No creepy poetry being recited back and forth laced with innuendos and hidden meanings. Pure simply, purely them, nothing complicated. 

“Okay,” Molly whispered as she kissed him one more time, and then pulled back, but Will held her there, just a bit longer, to feel her heat, to grasp on to what was real, what was in front of him, instead of letting his mind drift to those empty holes in his heart. She glanced at him once more, carefully, like she’d seen a glimpse of something unfamiliar. “You sure?”

“I’m…” Will swallowed once, licking his lips as his eyes held her own a bit longer than usual, “a little nervous about the court hearing in a few days.”

Molly’s eyes lit up with understanding and she cupped his face, resting their foreheads together. “It’s going to be okay. You go. You testify. You move on. Walter and I will be here when you’re done. Okay?”

If only it were that simple.

“Okay.”

***

It wasn’t okay.

Will had never been stared down so hard in his life, and it took everything in him not to stare back, to give into that predator that clawed at his bones and rattled the cage of his heart. Hannibal Lecter was not capable of love, he had to remind himself. Hannibal Lecter killed and ate people. Hannibal Lecter tried to kill and eat _him_.

If only those things were actually enough to deter the empath away from the courtroom, to keep walking, to not give in to temptation and sit in on the rest of the trail. Oh, but he did, he sat there, he listened, and at the end of it all, he felt remorse and guilt. That wouldn’t do, not one bit. When asked if he was returning tomorrow, Will shook his head. He’d said his piece, he’d given his testimony, and he silently gave his very last goodbye on the way out.

Molly waited for him in the living room with a glass of whiskey in her hand, straight up, no nice, three fingers. She handed it to him and rubbed his shoulders, small fingers gliding over his dress shirt as she then worked the buttons undone.

“You’re tense.”

“Stressed.”

She hummed thoughtfully at that.

“It’s over now.”

“It is.”

“Good.”


End file.
